


Home For Christmas

by coolokayletmethink



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Comedy, Complete, Fanfiction, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-28 12:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2732801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolokayletmethink/pseuds/coolokayletmethink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock went home to his parents for Christmas, leaving John by himself at 221B. In the course of 12 days before Christmas after Sherlock abruptly fled, John was left to deal with his feelings for the Detective. John later discovered that he had never admired him at all, because the truth was that he might've fallen for him. Everything was different when Sherlock changed his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 12 Days Before Christmas

"Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around."

- _Love Actually_

 

**12 Days Before Christmas**

"I'm going home for Christmas." John stared at Sherlock, who was cuddling himself in the sofa. He had not dressed though it was late in the morning of Mid-December, when the wind blew harder and the snow piled up in street corners. And everyone's inside, turning the heater up and cuddling themselves and wore jumpers, like John. But Sherlock was too lazy to dress, for he had no reason to. There had not been a case in weeks and it's driving Sherlock even madder than he already was.

Not only that he shot the wall, making John very upset because he was given the misfortune to pay for the damage, Sherlock managed to smuggle syringes with God knows what's inside that got him fixed. John didn't like it when he had to find packs of cigarettes that he previously confiscate, moreover finding his friend stoned at 3 in the morning with empty syringes hidden under the bed.

So that day Sherlock had not dressed though it was late noon of mid-December and the wind was harder and snow piled up in street corners, John was glad he could just sit down in his couch sipping afternoon tea, sank into his jumper and not finding his friend shooting the wall or getting high. "What was that?" He said. "I said I'm going home for Christmas." Sherlock heaved out an exaggerated sigh, "to my parents."

John's lip twisted into a confused smile, looking at his friend, bewildered. "Sherlock, the only thing you hate more than Christmas is spending Christmas at your parents." Sherlock starred out the window, where the weather outside was cloudy with a chance of snow. It's a nice change from rain, John figured, even though it's much colder and John had to wear an extra jumper when going out. He liked the scenery of winter, when leaves had fallen out of their trees, leaving them brown and dead. The top, where leaves used to dance to the rhythm of the wind had been replaced by glistening white snow. So were rooftops and cars in the streets. But the best thing was, the festive decorations people put in front of their shops. Fairy lights laced across the window shops, with writings of Christmas wishes. Christmas trees in hotels and parks, the sturdy kinds that didn't mind the snow. Christmas songs, wether of love, or of peace, were put on in markets and stores and radios.

John loved the combination of the colors red and green spread across London, bringing the holiday spirit. They made John feel like a kid again. Not like John's childhood was a happy one. But at least being the innocent kid John was, John could escape the troubles of being an adult, especially an adult that happened to be London's favorite sociopath's flatmate. "Mycroft made me promised mummy- Um, mother." He said with his lower lip slightly sticking out. "It was an act of vengeance, for making him accompany my parents when they were in town, resulting into 3 boring hours of lés miserablés. That.. That imbecile!" Sherlock spat with sudden rise of tone in his voice, "he couldn't be bothered by the fact that his brother got away once, he had to get back at me!" Sherlock shifted and cuddled himself in the couch, facing away from John. What he usual did when bored or upset.

"I don't know, perhaps it's not that bad, Sherlock. Don't you miss your parents? You did not see them last time they were here. You made an excuse and left, remember?" John said trying to lighten the conversation, but Sherlock wouldn't give in. He went silent, still not facing John. John breathed and sipped his tea. If Sherlock wanted to be upset all day, then so be it. So long as he stayed away from them bloody revolver John kept finding all round the flat.

-

** 11 Days Before Christmas **

John woke up the next morning finding Sherlock dressed in his usual shirt and jacket, and a traveling backpack in his arms. One with the slot for a sleeping bag on top. John, still in his pants and the clothes he slept in with the night before, starred agape at his friend. "Bloody hell, where are you going?"

"Home. Christmas. Parents. Remember?" He replied casually, his face half hidden behind the unnecessarily huge backpack. "What, already? But Christmas is almost 2 weeks away." "Isn't that what people do? Spend weeks before Christmas with their parents?" Sherlock's hand slipped as John's reflexes immediately helped him, catching the backpack before it fell to the flat's floor. He put it down next to the the door frame where they were standing.

"Not the last time I checked. Put on your bloody coat for God's sake you're not gonna go out looking like that!" John was upset now. He had his hands on his hips absentmindedly, furrowing his brows. He didn't know what made him so upset. Maybe it's the thought of spending the rest of the festive month alone. Sure he would love having Sherlock gone for the Christmas weekend to enjoy the flat's peaceful state. But having him gone for the rest of December, and watching him leave with such eager though despising the idea just the day before was a huge disappointment.

"You sort of left out the part that said that you were leaving today when you had just told me yesterday," John grumbled. "Yeah, so?" Sherlock squinted his eyes and watched his friend shifting on his heels. "Are you upset at me?"

John put down his hands, licking his lips nervously. 'Yes I'm upset dumbo. We were supposed to stay together during Christmas and not leave the other behind without prior notice' John thought, but decided not to say. "No. Why should I be upset?" Sherlock, being his usual ignorant self let it pass over his head. "Good. I'll be back just after New Year's Day, if the situation allows."

WHAT. John yelled mentally. He had to spend not only Christmas alone, but the passing of the year as well. What a friend, he thought. But this was Sherlock we're talking about, and he's no ordinary friend. John sighed and ragged his shoulders, letting his steam cool off. "Ok."

A smile spread across his face as he slid his arms into his trench coat. John had never seen him this excited and it burned John's insides. He wrapped his blue scarf around his neck, strapped on the backpack and hopped downstairs. John followed with heavy steps. "Wear your hat, Sherlock it's bit chillier than usual." Sherlock furrowed his brows and looked at John straight in the eye. "D'you mean, the death frisbee?"

"The deerstalker, yes."

"No. I'd rather freeze my head."

Sherlock snapped, but then immediately had the look in his face that said that he's reconsidering. "Just wear it on that big head of yours." John clicked his tongue and snatched the deerstalker from the coat hanger before putting it on Sherlock's head. John had to stand on his tippy toes to adjust it, which embarrassed him but John decided to go along. Sherlock started down at John for awhile, before finally he spoke, "are you going to be alright?" John made a pffft sound with his lips and crossed his arms. Sherlock actually giving a damn even for the slightest surprised him, lifting all the anger he had for the detective just earlier. "Course I am. Don't have to worry 'bout me. I'll be fine." Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. John cleared his throat, "Got a plane to catch, haven't you? Go on then." He nodded towards the door standing behind Sherlock. "Right." He turned and walked out into the cold winter morning.

John stood by the door, watched as a taxi picked his flatmate up and drove its way to the airport. He climbed up the stairs and made himself tea before sinking into the couch to enjoy the fresh brewed cup of tea.

A sudden buzz from his phone made him jump. He put down the cup on the saucer, looked on the table and saw its screen lit up, notification of a text message from his flatmate.

 

I took your laptop, by the way, mine's in the bedroom -SH


	2. 10 Days Before Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John decorated the flat when Sherlock called.  
> (The chapter with mentions of Redbeard, the dog)

**10 Days Before Christmas**

John sat on his couch, staring at the empty couch across his, tapping his fingers on his knee. He had just realized that he hadn't put up anything to greet the season. No Christmas tree, no fairy lights, no decorations, absolutely nothing. The flat looked the same as it was, except colder, and certainly lonelier. John wandered what Sherlock was doing. John wandered how he could possibly survive Christmas with his parents. He'd heard so little about Sherlock's parents and all he knew was that Sherlock hated their guts, just like he hated Mycroft as though he wasn't his brother at all.

The flat felt empty, and so John thought that it would be a nice idea to redecorate a bit. Plus, Sherlock couldn't complain now that he's spending Christmas far from Baker Street. John wouldn't miss this opportunity. He took his jacket and went off into the street.

Lovely day, John thought. Quite bright for winter, actually. John walked on the pavements, not knowing where to go exactly. His breaths became puffs of fog as he walked along the pavements away from Baker Street. He would just let his feet decide along the way. He took the bus, sat in the very end just to enjoy the view of the city by himself. After a while he decided to go shopping for decorations at a department store down in Oxford Street.

The department store was decorated in the most extravagant way. A giant tree in the lobby, laced with gold and silver ribbons, dozens of ornaments and a gold star to top it all. John went into the home depo section and bought a couple ornaments that Mrs. Hudson would love to have on their Christmas tree, and, for Sherlock, though he wouldn't be attending, a skull ornament John found. John thought it was funny that someone actually made an ornament of a little skull the size of his fist. On the last minute he saw a mistletoe on his way to the counter and took it with him. He realized he didn't knew how much decoration Mrs. Hudson already had in store, but it wouldn't hurt to add just a bit more.

-

"Where have you been, John! I needed your help!" Mrs. Hudson was in the flat, setting up a tree next to the fireplace. "These hips weren't as hip as they used to be, John. Could you help bring the rest up?" John did as he was told, then proceed helping Mrs. Hudson put up the tree. A couple minutes later when they were done, the both of them sat on the flat's rug, satisfied of how wonderful the tree turned out to be. It fitted perfectly in the room, lighting up the mood of the people in it. But still it was empty.

John and Mrs. Hudson sat quietly, starring up at the tree. Their legs crossed, their knees touching. John was the one who broke the silence. "Perfect timing, actually," he said, "I bought us these." He reached for his shopping paperback, took out the ornaments he bought and showed them to Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson's lips twisted into a smile. "Oh! lovely, dear. Thank you!" She beamed upon the ornaments, before coming across the little skull ornament. John's face fell as he stuttered, "That's, that's for.." He let his words trailed off when Mrs. Hudson looked up at him, and with a comforting tone she said, "He's not going to be here, John." She placed her palm on John's shoulder and shot him a sad look. "I know. I know that," John cleared his throat and broke the eye contact. "Wouldn't hurt to have a piece of him in the tree, wouldn't it?" His gaze shifted to the empty couch Sherlock used to sat on.

Mrs. Hudson smiled and let out a chuckle. She looked at John dearly before she uttered, "you do love him."

John snapped and stared at Mrs. Hudson in disbelief, "I'm not- I mean-" he couldn't help but smile nervously, "What makes you think that?" "Oh c'mon, John. The look you had in your eyes. Only a blind man couldn't tell." She laughed and smacked John on the shoulder before getting up, leaving the room. "I'll leave you to the decorating, then. Mrs. Turner'd invited me for tea. See you in a bit!" Shouted Mrs. Hudson from the stairs.

John sat on the rug, frozen. Mrs. Hudson's words floating in the air. For the first time John did not deny it, nor confirm. Truth was, he had been confused by the matter lately. He had been thinking about his feelings for the detective, for what he thought at first was admiration. But soon the doctor realized it was more than that. Often times when he saw Sherlock roaming around the flat, or playing his violin with such finesse. Or when he corrected the telly, and complained about it being tedious and idiotic, he found himself looking at the detective, and couldn't look away. Little moments when he knew, when the thought about him being more than a friend popped into his mind. It became more and more frequent, and every time it did cross his mind he shrugged it off. He couldn't possibly loved Sherlock Holmes. Could he? The idea was simply ridiculous. He's not even gay for a starter. Sherlock might be gay, he thought. But John had never bat an eye on guys before, not before Sherlock at the least.

John unwrapped the ornaments from their wrappers. Most of them were round, some in the shape of the star, one big one for the top. And then the skull. John hung them up randomly on the tree. The skull right in the middle when he could see it clearly. He smiled with satisfaction, before decorating the rest of the room. A couple of hours later the room was filled with fairy lights. John took out his and Sherlock's socks and placed them by the fire place, (Sherlock would hoped he had not messed up his socks index) then put on the mistletoe on the living room door as a finishing touch.

John replayed his memory of last year's Christmas. They had dinner, proper dinner. Sherlock sat on the dinner table and drank wine and talk about normal mundane things like the weather. It's odd to see him so human like that. But he promised Mrs. Hudson he would be good during Christmas and so he kept his promise. He's not a complete machine sometimes, John thought. John let out a sigh. It wouldn't be the same this year, he knew. He hoped it wouldn't spoil Christmas for him. After all, Christmas was John's favorite holiday.

A buzz in his pocket brought him back to reality. He snapped out of his daydream to pick up the call. It was Sherlock by the end of the line.

"John, it's me. Take my laptop and sign into Skype. I need to talk to you, face to face."

John sat on the couch and opened Sherlock's laptop. "It's passcoded." Sherlock went silent on the other side, so John had to repeat the question. "Sherlock what's the password?" "John Watson." He said, and John replied, "yes?" "No, I mean- the password is _John Watson."_

John froze for a moment before typing in his name. Again the thought popped up but he dismissed it immediately as the laptop unlocked with Sherlock's Skype already logged in. Sherlock's face appeared on the screen and John couldn't help but smile. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"My parents. They forced me to wear this stupid hair accessory with horns on them." John laughed, the detective looked genuinely disgruntled from the laptop screen. John's laptop screen. Apparently Sherlock had hacked into it again. "Is that what you need to talk to me about?" "Well, if I go out there, I will have to put it on." John's eyes caught something behind Sherlock in the background. It was some sort of a doodle on paper, taped to the wall. "Where exactly are you, Sherlock?"

"My room."

"Right. And what's that behind you?"

"Oh, just a stupid drawing."

"You drew that? Let me have a look."

Sherlock shifted the laptop and leaned to the side so John could see it. It was a drawing of a red dog and a stick man drawn with crayons. The stick man had an eyepatch in one eye, a sword and a funny looking hat with skull and crossbones. A kid's drawing, John could tell from the messy strokes of coloring and messy handwriting that's so bad he had no idea what the artist was intending to write about at the bottom of the drawing. "What does it say?" John narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. "Hm?" The detective turned and looked at the drawing, before turning his head back at the screen. "Redbeard and William, mates forever." He rolled his eyes then, "never mind that, its stupid."

A smirk spread across John's face as he said, "How long ago was it drawn?"

"Don't know. I was a kid and I was stupid. Mum never bothered to put it down, that old hag," mumbled the detective.

"I didn't know you had a dog, Sherlock."

"It died a long time ago. Anyway, why are we talking about this?" Sherlock sounded annoyed all the sudden.

"I'm just trying to come up with a conversation, Sherlock if you would appreciate. You were the one who wanted to talk."

"I was bored, did not have anything to do. I need a fix, John. They took away my cigarettes!"

John laughed and then silence fell between them. The two just starred at each other's laptop screen, at the image of the owners. They were miles apart, and John hated the fact he could only see him through the laptop. The silence was comfortable, until Sherlock squinted his eyes and leaned closer to the web-camera, his face became a close up on the other line. His forehead covering most of the webcam area. "I see you've redecorated." John's eyes scanned the room as he replied, "Yes I did. Put up the Christmas tree as well. D'you like it?" he lifted the laptop to show the Christmas tree behind him. "You know I couldn't care less, John." John's lips turned down into a frown. He was rather proud of the Christmas tree, to be honest.

A muffled shout was heard from Sherlock's end of line. A woman was shouting something about... Jumpers? "But I'm talking to John!" Sherlock snapped his head and shouted in return. "Sherlock Holmes if you don't come out here right now!" John heard the shout closer this time, a teasing smile on his face. Sherlock rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue at him, "I've got to go," Sherlock breathed. "I'll see you soon." John pressed his lip together to content the laughter building up inside him. "I'm coming!" Sherlock yelled before ending the call.

John laughed then, but soon the room felt empty again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you enjoy the chapter? More coming up regularly :)


	3. 7 Days Before Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hudson decided to have a Christmas dinner at the flat without Sherlock, an idea John wasn't really fond of. John met Lestrade who was troubled by his friend going away for Christmas, much like John.

**7 Days Before Christmas**

Mrs. Hudson knocked on the flat's door. John was sitting on his couch, having tea. The smell of fresh tea filled the room as Mrs. Hudson entered with a huge smile plastered upon her face. "Can I help you with anything?" "We're having Christmas dinner, John. I'm inviting some of your friends, but I couldn't reach Greg, so could you be bothered by-" John did not let Mrs. Hudson finish, "Hang on. Dinner?" He raised a brow and glared at Mrs. Hudson, who was sitting on Sherlock's couch then. "Why, yes! I phoned Molly, and Michael, but I couldn't reach Greg. So I was wondering if you were too busy to-" John cut her again, without realizing that he'd raised his voice, "without Sherlock?"

Mrs. Hudson's smile fell as she placed a hand on John's knee, "he's the one who left us behind, John. We can't let it spoil our Christmas, can we?" John felt anger building up in his chest. He clenched his fist and shifted in his seat. "Now, be a doll and pop into Greg's, tell him about the dinner, okay?" "Why should I?" John replied with a voice as cold as ice. Mrs. Hudson looked sad as she leaned closer to John. "John, just because he's not here doesn't mean you should be lonely. I mean it's Christmas! Go and visit Greg and have a cuppa or two, okay?"

"I think it's my turn to buy the milk," John stood up, took his jacket and left, leaving Mrs. Hudson to herself.

He strutted down the street with a frown on his face. His overgrown hair had made a fringe and as he walked he could feel it hitting against his forehead. His nose was as red as Rudolph's and so were his ears. John did not know what made him so angry. He wanted this, didn't he? Christmas and all that stuff. But having a Christmas dinner without Sherlock felt like betrayal.

John went into the grocery store and picked up a carton of milk, before a voice that John recognised made him turn.

"John! Oi!"

Greg Lestrade was standing by the end of the milk counter. He walked over to John and John could see that he was not looking well. He had eye bags under his eyes, he had this– overgrown messy beard, suggesting that he had not shaved for days. He never looked so messed up before. "Greg! Dear God you look awful!" John and Lestrade had developed a relationship that made it okay for John to be completely frank with the Inspector.

"You ok?"

"No."

He breathed, then looked on the ground, as though he spaced out. John remembered what Mrs. Hudson had asked him to do, and looking at Lestrade who looked awful made John took pity of him. He couldn't not invite him to the dinner, then. "By the way, do you mind if I tag you home and pop in for tea? I have news." He put up a friendly smile and pushed away the anger. "Yeah, sure! Great idea."

They arrived at Lestrade's house after a silent ride in his car. "Lovely house," John scanned the room and found it quite a place. He sat on the couch in the living room while he waited for Lestrade, who was boiling the kettle. Lestrade came from the kitchen minutes later with two cups of tea on a tray. John thanked him for the tea as he sat next to John on the long sofa. "So," John begin after having a sip, "we're having Christmas dinner at Baker Street, and you're on the guest list." He smiled at his friend the Detective Inspector. "Oh, great," he replied shortly, then continued sipping his tea with blank eyes. John was puzzled by his friend's behavior and so he asked, "are you ok, Greg?"

Lestrade put down his tea on his saucer, then let out a heavy sigh. "It's nothing. I had a fight with, with a friend of mine. He promised to spend Christmas here, but soon as he heard Sh-" Lestrade shot a panic look at John, before clearing his throat and continued, "as soon as he heard his.. brother was at their parents he flew home and abandoned the promise." John narrowed his eyes at Lestrade, "do I happen to know this friend of yours?" Greg laughed nervously before he replied, "c-course not. Anyway, what about you? Don't you realize you look awful too?"

John froze in his seat as Greg continued, "has he phoned you these couple of days?" John rubbed the back of his neck, "who?" "Sherlock. He's gone home, hasn't he?" John clenched his jaw and faked a smile. "No, he hasn't phoned me. He did video called me out of boredom." John smiled as he remembered the call they had a couple of days ago. Lestrade, on the other hand, looked even sadder. "Lucky you."

The two sat quiet then, both thinking about their friends who went away. Both trying to cope the void inside their chests, the feeling of being abandoned. John and Lestrade knew, that both were craving for their friends to come back for Christmas. Funny enough, it was the first time John realised that he missed Sherlock very much.


	4. 5 Days Before Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John got a phone call in the middle of the night. The next morning, he was reunited with a friend.

**5 Days Before Christmas**

The clock showed that it was 3 am in the morning when Sherlock called. John, still half asleep, sat down on his bed and answered. "Jesus, Sherlock don't you know what time it is?" he yawned, rubbing away the sleepiness in his eye.

_"I need_ _to talk to you,_ _John."_

His voice sounded different. "What happened?" John woke up in a sudden, happy to hear his friend but confused at the change of voice.

 _"Mycroft came and ruined everything."_ Sherlock's voice was almost a quiver. John was surprised by how shaky it sounded. Still, it sounded like Sherlock was using all the effort to speak the voice.

"What did he do?"

Sherlock went silent for a while, before he replied,  _"_ _He made Mum upset at me._ _He-"_ Sherlock inhaled a deep breath. " _I can't sleep._ " He finished shortly. John didn't know what to say to console Sherlock. So instead he told him a story.

"Do you know, when I was a little my mom used to be angry at me for stealing the jam?"

Sherlock was silent at first, John knew he must be confused. _"Steal the what?"_

John's face lit up an his lips curled into a smile. Because then his voice was Sherlock's again, the sarcastic, annoying, brilliant voice.

"The jam. See, we weren't a wealthy family. We had to save everything in the house, including food supply. When I was a kid and when the dinner was not enough for my little stomach, I snuck out of my bedroom at night to make myself sandwich. The jam and bread got lesser every time mum wanted to use it, but I kept my mouth shut. Until one day when I was about to crime again, she caught me red handed and hit me with her wooden spoon"

He heard Sherlock laughed, and it made him laugh too.

_"Yeah, don't tell anyone that."_

"No promises."

Sherlock said in between chuckles. The phone call became quiet again shortly afterwards. Sherlock broke the silence first.

_"I miss London."_

"I miss you-."

John then realized his tongue had slipped as a red mark crept across his neck. He smacked himself in the forehead and cursed mentally. Great job, John Watson. People will definitely talk. John waited for his friend to say something, his palm still on his forehead and an eye still shut, desperate for Sherlock's remark but he heard nothing.

"I saw Lestrade a couple days ago." He finally said, probably too fast, trying to make them forgot about the awkward moment even though he knew he never could. "He knew you're at your parents. Did you tell him you were away?"

_"Oh don't be daft, John. Look at the evidence. Clearly he knew it from Mycroft."_

"Thought so. What's going on with the two?"

_"Question is, what are you lot having for dinner this Christmas?"_

John gulped and licked his lips. "I have no idea. Molly will be cooking with Mrs. Hudson, I've heard." He could feel a lump in his throat. He hated having to be the one who admitted they're having a dinner without Sherlock. Sherlock didn't show up at gatherings and parties, but he's always up for Christmas. It's like, the only human thing he did every year, and having to celebrate it without him truly sucked.

_"Oh."_

"Who told you?" He said under his breath.

_"Mycroft, who else?"_

"And Mycroft knows from?" John could feel Sherlock rolling his eyes.

_"From the guy he's shagging, clearly."_

John's eyes widen in surprise, but then he realized that it wasn't that big of a surprise.

"I knew there were something between them."

_"Obviously."_

The two talked some more, mostly about previous cases, or sometimes Sherlock complained about how there's a bee nest in their backyard, and nobody had bat an eye on it. He talked about the potential of bee keeping, and then something about tobacco ashes. John listened to every word. Every word, every syllable is precious. It's the next best thing to having him next to John for Christmas, John figured. Eventually they bid each other good night and went to sleep. \- A couple of hours into the morning, John woke up finding Sarah standing by his bedroom door.

"Knock knock!" She said with a grin laced across her face.


	5. 4 Days Before Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John went shopping for Christmas presents with an unexpected company.

**4 Days Before Christmas**

"Sarah? What are you doing here?" John, who was only in his pants, got up in a panic and walked over to her. "Visiting an old friend." She scanned her eyes on John, then with a laugh she said, "Red boxer briefs? Really?"

John's face burnt up. He cleared his throat and shoved Sarah lightly out of the room. "You really should knock before opening the door!" His yelled muffled by the door now closed in front of Sarah. "I did knock!" She yelled back. "Just not before actually opening the door. Same thing." She mumbled to herself.

-

"So," John begin, after agonizing moments of silence in the flat's living room. He had dressed properly now, a jumper on top of his clothing. "What were you doing here again?" Sarah, sitting on what John and Sherlock called 'the client's seat', leaned forward with an excited grin. "I told you I came to visit an old friend."

"Really?" John raised a brow suspiciously. "Yep. And if you're not doing anything, since I don't see Sherlock round here, I would like to take you out for shopping."

"Shopping?" John said vaguely. Sarah sighed and shrugged her shoulders, "Christmas is in 4 Days and I haven't bought anything for anyone for the Christmas dinner. Have you bought anyone anything yet?"

CHRISTMAS DINNER? Why was she talking about Christmas dinner? Did Mrs. Hudson invited her too? What for? Questions ran through John's head as John tried not to look as puzzled as he was. He put up a smile, though with an eye twitching nervously. "No! I haven't actually."

"Great! We can go look together." Her smile faded then as she shot a suspicious look at John, as though she knew what was in John's mind, "can we?" John cleared his throat and with a high pitch voice that came out of nowhere he said, "Yea, yea sure!"

John wasn't sure how he felt about shopping with Sarah. She was his girlfriend for awhile, until things started to fall apart and they realized that the relationship simply couldn't work out. Sherlock contributed to it to, mistakenly calling Sarah John's ex girlfriends, pulling John along into a crime scene on date nights, being rude to Sarah when she came over, and so on, and so on. Sarah decided that it was best for them to just stay as friends. They did kept in touch for a while, until Sarah got herself a new boyfriend, and John moved on. So John had not talked to her for months now, who out of the blue showed up and took him out shopping like they were still friends.

"What are you thinking?" Sarah was walking beside John as they stroll along the pavements. By their right side, the street. By their left side, shops and candy stores decorated in Christmas lights. Children mucking about, parents telling them to keep tagging along as they shop for Christmas presents at the toy store.

"I was thinking of what to get for Mrs. Hudson, I don't know what she needs." Which was a lie. John knew exactly what she needed after complaining about the dull knife —that couldn't be used anymore but never had the time to replace— to the boys for millions of times. "I don't know what to buy her either," She smiled at John, but John couldn't return the smile sincerely.

They went shopping for presents; John bought a set of tea cup and saucer to Molly, a mug for Lestrade, A kitchen knife for Mrs. Hudson, and secretly bought a scarf —since he didn't know what to get to an ex girlfriend— for Sarah. Though John had bought everything he needed, Sarah hasn't yet a single thing she needed.

John tagged her along as she looked for presents, taking a while before picking something up but soon putting it back because either it's too pricy, too tacky, or too dull. They entered a shop that sold Christmas presents, from snow globes to jumpers. John parted from Sarah to go looking around when he heard a familiar Christmas song from the speaker. The song played on as he strolled along one section of the shop to the other. John found himself listening to the song, which sounded something like this:

The snow's coming down  
I'm watching it fall  
Lots of people around  
Baby please come home

The church bells in town  
All ringing in song  
Full of happy sounds  
Baby please come home

They're singing "Deck The Halls"  
But it's not like Christmas at all  
'Cause I remember when you were here  
And all the fun we had last year

Pretty lights on the tree  
I'm watching them shine  
You should be here with me  
Baby please come home

John could feel a heavy feeling in the pit of his gut. His chest ached with longing as the song continued on, reminding John how much he hated Christmas without Sherlock. It was as though Sherlock took away Christmas, leaving John on some dull February where snow was supposed to be gone but wasn't, when snow became monotone and white and annoying. He wanted Christmas to be amazing, he needed Christmas to be amazing.

John saw an abandoned section in one corner of the shop. He walked over to the abandoned corner, where halloween costumes were hung, ones that didn't sell during October. A costume in particular sparked an interest in John. The song still played on, when John saw a pirate hat, size for a grown man. It was a black pirate hat with skull and cross-bones on it, like the one Captain Hook wore or something. Like the one on Sherlock's drawing the other day. He couldn't resist it. He beamed at it like it was a pot of gold, then brought it to the cashier, payed for it, bagged it into his shopping bag, right before Sarah tapped him on the shoulder.

"Who was that one for?" Sarah had bought everything and was paying for them. She leaned back on the counter while the cashier scanned the barcodes, putting up a playful smile at John. "M-my cousin. He aspires to become a pirate." John replied, trying to sound casual and funny. She chuckled then, "wouldn't you be upset at that? You were in the army and pirates are outlaws. You fought the outlaws, didn't you John? The detective and the brave soldier." She smirked at John, slurring the 'the brave soldier' part.

John pressed his lips together and put up a forced smile in return. "Actually, it's 'Hatman and Robin'"

John walked Sarah home while he listened to her stories about her ex boyfriend that she dated after John, Sebastian, and how she couldn't remember why she dated him in the first place because, "I was upset and he was there for me. I guess you could call it a rebound." She shot a suggestive look at John, which John seemed to realize but decided to ignore. It was over between them and John had no intention to start over or anything, especially when he had someone else in mind.

"Are you dating anyone?" She asked as they walked down the street side to side. "No," John answered simply. "Me too." She said with implication written all over her look. It was silent then, until they reached her house and before she turned away, she looked up at John and smiled slyly.

"John, will you take me as your date to the dinner?" John raised his brows, and without thinking any further he nodded. "Yeah, sure."

She grinned happily and gave John a light peck on the cheek, "See you then." She turned and walked into the house. John, on the street still, scratched his head in frustration. "Why did I say yes??"

He cursed under his breath as he walked home. Later that day, he wrapped everything in gift wrappers and after he was sure they didn't look that bad, placed them under the tree with name tagged on each of the present. Including the hat. (Which he previously had bundled up in order to wrap and now looked like a giant taco under the wrapper).

John sat down on his couch again and snuggled into his jumpers. He turned on the TV and looked for a good Christmas film. He settled for Love Actually, which had Martin Freeman on it (Everybody kept telling John he and Martin looked the same while to John he looked nothing like him), and watched peacefully.

Not knowing the incident that was to happen the next day.


	6. 3 Days Before Christmas - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming out

**3** **Days Before Christmas**

"John! Are you free tonight?"

John had agreed to spend the night out with Lestrade at a local bar. He spent the whole day helping Mrs. Hudson for dinner tomorrow night to cover for Molly who couldn't get out of work. Who knew kitchen work could be so tiring? John was done in. He had blisters in his fingers and his thumb felt numb. He had never used knife to actually cook before and it took him several painful hours to get used to it. (John wished he had given Mrs. Hudson the new knife he had bought for her because the one John used was so very very dull and John could then see why Mrs. Hudson kept complaining about them to the boys) So when Lestrade called, John's eyes lit up like the Christmas tree that he and Mrs. Hudson put up in their living room.

John had been so alone for the last couple days, and being alone made John miserable. He kept thinking about Sherlock, what was he doing, what was he up to in the Holmes' house. Had Mycroft bothered him again? Why hadn't he called? And then his mind travelled to the thoughts he had been pushing and blocking away. And then after that, the feeling of longing.

Longing for Sherlock to come back was like waiting for Santa to come down his chimney when John was 5. Somebody told John that Santa wasn't real, and that all this time the presents under the tree were not from Santa Clause, but from his parents. John wanted to prove it wrong, to prove that Santa was real. Because he was a big believer in Christmas miracles and a big fat man with a long white beard coming down his chimney every Christmas night to give him presents.

So John sat crosslegged in front of the fireplace with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies, his companion for the night; or at least until Santa arrived. (After successfully sneaking out of his bedroom by tip toeing). John waited for Santa all night. He didn't fall asleep, though lots of times John found himself falling asleep when his eyes flickered and his head bowed. But he always managed to snap out of his sleepiness and kept himself awake, waiting. More waiting, followed by more waiting, but he didn't come. Santa had failed to come to the Watson's that Christmas night and it broke little John's heart.

The point was, waiting for Sherlock Holmes to come back for Christmas was like waiting for a big fat man with a long white beard to slid down your chimney and give you presents: deep down you know it's never gonna happen, but you wait anyway. You wanted so desperately to prove everybody wrong, to prove yourself wrong: because no matter what everybody told you, no matter what you told yourself, you held on to this believe— this lie that Santa exist to come for you with what your heart desired most.

John put on his jacket and walked down the street to the local bar. The wind grew stronger every day. John's shoulders were hunched, his nose was cherry red and his lip quivered. Nobody was in the street, though John knew stores and bars must be packed with people trying to warm themselves up and stay away from the outdoors as much as possible.

He walked into the bar, an infamous Irish bar that served John the best Irish beer John had ever tasted in London. The bar wasn't as crowded as expected, but there were still a good amount of people drinking away the cold.

 _"...We began with the snow storm already moving North as we are speaking, 22 cities are going to be hit by this one..."_ The TV was on and it looked like a snowstorm was on the way. _"Hundreds of flights already canceled..."_

John spotted Lestrade then and sat next to him. "Hey John, you alright?"

"Yes, yeah I'm fine. Yourself, Greg?" John rubbed his hands together to warm them.

"Would I be asking for a meet up if I were?"

Lestrade's tone was filled with contempt emotion, and John was surprised by it. Lestrade caught the shocked in John's look before he sighed and put down his pint of beer. He ordered John a beer, saying it's on him. He took a deep breath and let it out a long sigh before he spoke, "Sorry for that. I didn't mean to-" He ran a hand through his face as John starred with sympathy. "It's alright, Greg. Haven't had enough sleep lately, eh?"

John noticed the eye bags that got wider under Lestrade's eyes, the creases carved on his forehead and the beard he hadn't bother to shave. John took pity at his friend. He looked miserable. "Still fighting with that friend of yours?" Lestade looked at John with weary eyes an nodded. "I can't spend a peaceful Christmas without him. I just can't. I have to make peace with him, you know? Like talk to him or something but he won't pick up my calls!"

John's beer came and he took a big gulp. He let out an 'aah', his eyes fixed on his friend. "Have you tried sending a voice message?" Lestrade nodded again, his lower lip sticking out and his eyebrows furrowed. "Well, Greg. I'm sorry but can't do anything for you." John shook his head and raised his brow. "We'll just have to drink it away, situations like this. Waiting will only worsen the restless heart." He said and then paused, his eyes looked far over Lestrade's shoulder, realizing the words he said had struck something inside him.

Lestrade leaned foreward and with a low, hesitant voice he asked, "John... You're my best mate, aren't you?" John looked back at Lestrade, whose eyes were serious and waiting for John's answer. "Yeah, course you are."

"What if..." Lestrade bowed his head, then looked up at John, "What if this friend of mine isn't just a friend?" John shot a muddled look because he truly didn't mind if this friend of Lestrade wasn't a friend at all, "So what then?"

"I mean-" He cleared his throat, "What if he's my... _Partner_?"

"Yes, yes I get it and it's completely fine, Greg. Don't worry." John put his hand on Greg's shoulder reassuringly, then smiled at his bestfriend. Lestrade smiled briefly, but sincerely, and it lit up his face and brought back the Lestrade John knew. "Thanks, John," He broke their gaze and took the beer to his lip before he continued, "I know you'd understand, out of all people. You being into Sherlock and all."

John's cheeks turned ruby red as he put up all the effort to muster a laugh, "I'm not _INTO_  Sherlock! What are you talking about?" John threw his head back and looked at Lestrade like he had grown a second head. Lestrade snorted and smirked, "Quit denying it John." He gulped down his bear then put it back down on the table. "Oh and, and if you hear from him again," Lestrade said with a suddenly serious tone. John smiled and cut him, "I'll ask Mycroft to call you back."

Lestrade's eyes widen and his jaw dropped. "You knew all this time?" John sneered and replied, "Course I do. I'm friends with Sherlock Holmes for crying out loud. He knows who's shagging who before anybody does." There was a brief moment of pause before the both broke into laughter.

"Oh, John Watson, you bastard."

-

John walked down the street back to his flat with one thought in mind: _What if..._

He took a deep breath that came out as a white puff of fog. He decided to take the long walk home whilst mulling over clouded mind.

John was strolling down the pavement when he heard an explosion from the building a couple blocks behind him. He turned his heels right then when two people were watching, screaming their guts out. A husband and wife, as it seemed. John jogged to them as fire took what's left of the building, what John knew was once a flat. The red color of fire was blinding and John had to squint his eyes in order to look for the couple. They were on the pavements across the street where the building was burning bright, turning the cold into great deadly heat. John could feel a hot sting on his face as he ran by.

"What happened? have you called emergency??" John blurted out when he finally reached them, trying to be helpful. He was panting slightly as he took out his phone and started dialing. The man, who was holding the woman in his arms replied with a shaky voice, "We don't know, we just got here. Scared the devil out of us." The woman nodded, then the man looked at John, "At least our daughter's save. She's sleeping over at a friend's. Just a couple blocks from here. We're the only people who lived here so it's alright."

The two of them shared a gaze, before hugging each other tightly. John sighed as relieve washed over his body. No human casualties then.

A girl ran over to where the three stand, about 12 years of age. She was crying and sobbing and screaming. "Rose! Where's Donna?" Asked the woman to the girl, panic laced over her expression and voice, bringing tension to everyone. The girl held back her sobs only to blurt out with a cry,

_"Donna went home to get her sock monkey!"_

It all happened in a snap. The woman screamed in horror and ran towards the building before the man stopped her with his arms around her waist. The woman screaming in a distance, John ran on into the building as fire closed in around him.


	7. 3 Days Before Christmas - Part 2

John could feel the heat surging into his skin as he ran from one corridor to the other. Fire had crept onto the floor and the walls and the ceiling, pieces of wood crackled before falling and burning. Hot wind blew from all directions as beads of sweat ran down John's forehead. All he turned he could only see red and orange of the angry fire, and grey from the smoke, choking John's throat. He screamed multiple times as he ran pass room after room, trying to locate the girl.

_"DONNA!"_

He pushes aside all fears and dreadful thoughts as he ran on. After several screams John finally heard it. A series of sobs from the room by the end of a corridor. He raced to it, kicked the door open with his foot and found the room empty but a wooden cupboard in the corner.

He ran to the corner and opened the doors. A little girl was crying inside, holding on to her sock monkey. She had wide brown eyes and curly dark hair, about 9-10 years old judging by her size that allowed her to barely fit the cupboard.

"Donna?"

John's voice swallowed by everything burning around them. The little girl nodded, rubbing her wet eyes with both hands. John, panting from all the running and the oxygen that became thinner by the minute squatted down to her eye level.

"Listen, Donna. I'm John, and I'm going to bring us out of here and take you back to mum and dad outside, yeah?"

He put up a smile and pecked her in the forehead, a gesture John had never done before. The girl nodded again. John took her in his arms and ran out of the room.

The moment they stepped out, the ceiling of the room where John found her collapsed and made a loud boom. The girl cried in shock but John didn't have time to look back or stop. He ran back to the exit door, his lips quivering as he told the girl to calm down. He knew they didn't have more than a couple of minutes to make it out alive.

They reached the exit door finally. John's leg carried them faster as soon as he saw it. But before John could get closer, just several more steps before the exit door, when John had smiled in victory as he dashed to the finish line, a piece of wooden block fell from the ceiling and made a loud crash. This time not only the girl screamed in surprise but so did John.

He stopped in his track, took a couple steps back and put the girl down beside him, his eyes avid on the piece of wood blocking the way to escape.

 _What now?_ John thought. The smoke became thicker and the fire became wilder. Soon they both would burn into ashes. John shut his eyes as he bit his lower lip. It was the first time John had thought of dying. Permanently in the state of dead. Burnt to ashes, slowly tortured to his demise with a young girl he just met, and not with whom he thought he would die with.

John took a deep breath, put the girl down next to him and stood up clenching his fists. "Donna," he said through gritted teeth, "How much do you want to see your parents?" His eyes avid on the piece of unmoving wooden block that's diagonally blocking the way.

Then he heard it.  John heard Sherlock's voice that he knew so well, whispering in his ear. John could hear him loud and clear in his mind, Sherlock's deep growl sending shivers down his spine.

 _"If you die here without me, John,"_ The voice said, _"I swear in the name of his majesty King of England I will kill you."_

"So very very much!" The little girl screamed and John nodded. Suddenly another loud crash could be heard from inside the building. Not long now the whole building would collapse. John wasted no more time. He walked over to the wooden block that was burning bright, turning into black coal and ashes. He kicked it with all his power but it wouldn't budge. Time was running out. Crackles became louder, the rest of the ceiling was threatening to fall.

John placed both hands on the burning hot block as he screamed from the top of his lungs. He pushed and pushed, ignoring the immense pain in his palms as fire burnt his skin. The smoke was so thick then, choking the lives out of John and the girl. He whimpered, his legs shook, but he kept going. His screams and grunts amplified and so did the pain in his hands but John Watson kept going. In his mind was one thing, one person.

The piece of wood tumbled down finally after what felt like hours. It fell to the floor making a loud frightening noise as John ran back to the girl and carried her behind his back. He ran to the exit door and busted it open. Cold wind brushed John's entire body as relieve washed over like cold water. He was outside, running towards the couple he met earlier. It was all a blur afterwards. John remembered their smiles and tears on their faces as John handed their daughter over. They uttered their gratitude before John's vision went black.

-

"Yes, sir, we're giving him oxygen now. Don't worry, sir he'll be alright. We're going to- Oh, look there he is!"

John was in a little white space strapped onto a bed. An ambulance, he figured. The doors were opened and across he could see firetrucks and firemen trying to put out the fire, pointing their hoses and sprayed water onto the building. The building didn't even look half the height as it used to have.

John sat up and peeled off the oxygen mask from his face, ignoring the concern look from the young woman —most likely to be one of the medics— sitting next to him. "How long was I out?" He asked with a raspy voice. "3 minutes, sir. We're taking you to the hospital right now."

John couldn't feel his hands. He took them out and found them bandaged in white. His fingers sticking out of the bundled bandages. They were charcoal black and bleeding.

"No, no. There's no need for that, I'm a doctor."

"But sir, it's standard procedural."

"I can take care of myself."

"Sir-"

 _"Please,"_ he cocked his head and shot her a serious glance, "I just want to be home and left alone."

She starred at him for a second before  nodding hesitantly, clearly displeased. "Very well," She sighed, "Anything for a local hero." She put up a smile.

"A what?"

Before the woman could answer, a figure entered the ambulance and sat next to the woman. "John Watson what have you done to yourself!" Greg Lestrade shouted. His eyebrows furrowed, his lips pulled into a frown. He looked like a dad who found his son sneaking into the house at 5 in the morning after a wild house party.

"I'm fine, Greg." John chuckled at his friend's behavior. "I'd give you a warm assuring hug, but-" He raised his hands and showed Lestrade the bandages. Lestrade's frown turned into a little smile as he sighed in relieve.

"Turned out you are just as reckless even without Sherlock, John."

Lestrade took John home in the police car. He kept telling John how stupid his face looked all covered in black dust. Once John got home safely he took a cold shower, avoiding his bandaged hands. He rinsed all the dirt and ashes sticking to his skin.

He found a couple minor cuts here and there after the shower. John treated them after with bandages and iodine. He then went to sleep, but he was restless. He kept tossing and turning, unable to sleep. He fell asleep sometime before midnight only to jolt awake a couple minutes after. His breath ragged and his face covered in sweat. His mind kept replaying the scene in his head, the moment the wood fell to the ground. The moment he thought he was going to die.

He then saw his phone by the bed and thought of one thing. John ran a hand through his face and calmed his breathing. He had to tell him now before it's too late. He took the phone, dialed his number and waited.

_One beep..._

Perhaps he's asleep.

_Two beeps..._

Perhaps he's stoned.

_Three beeps..._

Perhaps he had a fight with Mycroft again.

_Four..._

_"Hello?"_

"Sherlock..."

His name came out in a gasp. John bit his tongue. Tears springing up behind his eyes as breaths became rapid again. John almost died multiple times before, but Sherlock was always there with him. And somehow, seeing Sherlock standing by his side made John felt _ready_. He didn't care if he had to die. As long as Sherlock's with him. He remembered it all now, at the pool, at the tunnel.

This time the detective wasn't with him and it scared him to death. He was genuinely scared, more than anything. Scared of dying alone with some stranger he just met and not with him instead.

 _"John,"_ Sherlock said on the other line, his already deep voice lowered, _"Is something wrong?"_

"Um, I need to tell you something." John tried his hardest to sound casual because the truth was his voice was cracking. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

_Nervous, very nervous. Heart hammering like steel drums. Butterflies in the stomach. Fingers fumbling the bed sheet._

_"Tell me what?"_

John's mind travelled to the night he waited for Santa Claus. The night he cried when he realized he had been a fool. The night he found out the truth; everybody lied to him, Santa wasn't real. The night when only a glint of hope was left, when sun was rising and John was sobbing silently. The same words he said that night, the same words he hoped Santa heard. The same words John uttered, he said,

"I need you."

A sob slipped out of his mouth as tears rolled down his cheeks. He couldn't hold it back anymore. He knew Sherlock was already making deductions, but he also knew that Sherlock couldn't possibly know that John would say these words to him.

"God, I need you, Sherlock,"

John pleaded crying, 

"Please."


	8. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well.

**Christmas Eve**

_"Christmas might be canceled! A huge snow storm coming to tens of other cities.."_

"Dear God," Mrs. Hudson breathed with her hand on her chest, "I hope Sherlock's alright." John turned off the TV and turned to face Mrs. Hudson who was standing beside him. "He's going to be alright. It needs more than a snowstorm to kill that man."

A smile growing on Mrs. Hudson's lips as she sighed in relieve,"You're right." She patted John's shoulder as she said, "I'm so glad you're taking Sarah to the dinner."

"Yeah, about that. Why did you invite her? You knew we had split up for quite a while now." Mrs. Hudson sighed and looked up at John. "You looked very lonely, John. I bumped into her at the grocery store and thought, 'why the heck not'!"

"Because!" John whined like a puppy asking for a treat, "Because you're making things very awkward, Mrs. Hudson!" Mrs. Hudson pressed her lips into a thin line, "Oh, whatever, John! Go pick her up while I tidy up the place, will you?" She walked and disappeared into the kitchen as John let out a frustrated growl.

_Christmas doesn't feel like Christmas anymore. Christmas is supposed to make us feel happy and stuff. Christmas is worse than a regular Monday, now. Christmas is stupid. Christmas sucks!_

John went on and on, mentally cursing Christmas as he walked the paths to Sarah. The snowstorm didn't hit London. In fact, it was rather bright in London. Still, it was very windy outside. John was wearing 4 layers that day, including his jumper. He even wore a hat, a beanie Molly gave him last Christmas, making him look even shorter than he already was.

He rang the doorbell of Sarah's house and stood by the door. Sarah came out wearing a tight black dress that stopped far above the knee underneath a pink furry coat. Her makeup was too broad, her lips were cherry red almost matching her cheeks. her hair was twirled and twisted and held up. He grinned at John, showing her pearl white teeth and asked, "Am I overdressed?"

John cleared his throat and answered, "No! Uh, you look fine." Which wasn't a lie, because frankly John wasn't paying much attention. John took her back to 221B Baker Street where everyone was waiting. Molly and Mike had arrived, along with Lestrade.

"Oi, look who's here!" Lestrade said with his mouth full of Mrs. Hudson's blueberry muffin. He was leaning on the kitchen's door frame. He looked just a tiny bit better than the last time John saw him, which was last night.

"Hi, John," Greeted Molly with a smile on her face. "Hello, John." Mike Stamford waved a hand at the couple who was standing by the door.

"Hi, everyone," John replied, then looked at Sarah. "This is Sarah. Sarah, everyone. Everyone, Sarah."

"Hi Sarah." They all said at the same time, like in drug recovery clubs or something, when you introduced your name and everybody had to say "Hi, (your name)!"

Molly went to the kitchen and helped Mrs. Hudson with dinner while the rest took a seat in the flat and talked about weather.

"Horrible isn't it? My cousin couldn't get out of her house at all," Mike said.

"Yeah. They say the streets are covered in snow 3 feet high.." Lestrade said in return.

"Well, at least it's not raining." Sarah replied which earned chuckles from the two men.

Meanwhile, John was listening to the radio. Blue Christmas was on, and John couldn't stop a second to join in the conversation because he was listening to the song.

The tree was filled with fairy lights and shiny ornaments. Even the little skull John had bought the other day. Christmas lights laced across the window. Decorations of red and green all over the flat, Christmas music was on, John's friends and even his 'date' were there, Mrs. Hudson cooking for dinner. All that, but it didn't feel like Christmas to John. Not a tiny bit. John had looked forward for tomorrow all year, but then he just wanted it to be over real quickly.

John let out a sigh. The others had stopped talking about weather and proceed into talking about work. Except for John who was listening while staring at the ground and Sarah who was staring at John. The two were sitting on the long couch. Sarah had forced John to shift to the very edge of the seat because she kept closing in the gap between the two.

"John."

"Hm?" 

"I was thinking... Since this is a date, that maybe we could go out for a drink after dinner?" 

"Sure." 

"What happened to your hands?" 

"Nothing. Uh, cooking accident." 

"Looks pretty serious for a cooking accident?" 

"..... yeah."

Sarah seemed to notice the lack of enthusiasm in John. She lowered her tone and asked, "Are you okay?"

John stared at Sarah for awhile before clearing his throat. "Sarah, I've got a question." Sarah nodded as John shifted in his seat. John was facing Sarah and Sarah was facing John.

John looked down and fumbled with his fingers nervously. He didn't trust this girl, but he didn't know who else to tell because he needed to get it off his chest right then. The uncomfortable feeling growing in his chest. He knew Sarah would listen, but not sure if she would understand.

"Is it selfish for a person to love the other, knowing that would destroy the friendship they had developed through many years?"

Sarah beamed at John and smiled, "Yes," Sarah said firmly. John raised both eyebrows, his shoulders slumped. But then Sarah tilted her head to the side and stared at John longingly before she continued, "Unless the other had fallen too. Then that would just be giving both a favor."

Mrs. Hudson bursted into the room with a tray of turkey in her hands. "Dinner's ready! C'mon everyone into the table!" She then disappeared into the room next to where everyone was sitting comfortably. Lestrade and Mike Stamford stood up and walked into the kitchen.

However, John and Sarah stayed where they were whilst staring at each other. John's lips curled into a smile at the thought in his mind;

_Is it possible that he fell for me too?_

But then it was interrupted by Sarah, who placed her palm on John's thigh as she leaned closer to him. "Don't worry, John." She said in his ear, "I think you're doing both of us a favor."

"Yeah!" John smiled happily but then his face fell in an instant.

"Hold on, _what?"_

Sarah leaned back then, only to close the space between the two with a full kiss on John's lips.

John didn't stop her, though. Perhaps it's the shock. He let her kiss him passionately as she started exploring his mouth with her wild tongue and let his reflexes kiss her back. His mind was busy by the sudden realization he had. He let her touch him, roaming her hands on the back of his head, messing his hair. He was out of breath and was then waiting for the hot kiss to stop and explain that it wasn't her he was talking about.

Thundering footsteps were heard from the stairs, followed by a series of panting. Someone was standing by the door now which John was facing. John opened his eyes to see who it was as Sarah pulled him away from the kiss finally.

A man was standing by the door, an unnecessarily huge backpack strapped to his back, his trench coat and dark curly hair covered in snow here and there. His sharp green eyes staring down at the couple snogging on the couch, his breaths were heavy and hot.

It was Sherlock Holmes standing by the door, and he didn't look very happy.


	9. Christmas Eve - Part 2

Mycroft Holmes ran up the stairs just after, then put his hands on his knees while catching his breath. Lestrade walked out of the kitchen and to the living room.

"Who's here, John?" Lestrade walked over to see who it was, and my God John had never seen him so surprised before. His face fell, his eyes glistened and his shoulders ragged.

"Mike.." He breathed. Mycroft looked up and their eyes met. Mycroft looked less surprised and more happy. He smiled with a corner of his lips, his eyes lit up like he had just seen a terrace of cakes. "Good evening, Greg." He said and then walked over to Lestrade. He was wearing his usual attire, plus a coat on top. Lestrade dropped whatever it was in his hand and shook his head.

"You little..." He opened his arms and tackled Mycroft in a tight hug. Mycroft couldn't hold back the laughter building in his chest. He laughed and hugged Lestrade back. "I miss you."

Lestrade pulled away, his hand still wrapped behind Mycroft's neck. He was grinning ear to ear, his heart filled with joy. He looked into Mycroft's eyes dearly as he uttered, "I miss you, too."

"And uh," Mycroft added, his bottom lip stuck out and his head hung low. "I'm sorry I hadn't pick up your calls. I know you must be mad-"

Lestrade tilted the other man's head up with the tip of his finger under Mycroft's chin, then cut him with a kiss on his lips. He kissed him long and hard and passionate, like he could never kiss him again. Mycroft was surprised at first, but kisses back just after. The both knew people might be watching, but they didn't care. All they care about was the person in front of them, the loves of their lives, coming back for Christmas.

-

John stared agape at Sherlock. Sherlock's nose and ears were red, his hair covered in snow and so was his trench coat.

"What's going on, who's there?" Mrs. Hudson walked to the living room and gasped when she saw Sherlock. "You're back!" She said as a smile laced across her face.

Sherlock didn't move an inch. He stood there, a hand on the door frame supporting his weight. He looked pale and weary and cold. His breathings that were once rapid had become calmer. His eyes avid on John's.

John shifted away from Sarah, slightly shoving her away from him. And then realization hit him like a brick. He broke their gaze and looked at Sarah sitting in front of him, then back at Sherlock's ice cold stare. "It-it's not what it looks like!" His shoulders ragged, his eyes widen and his chest ached with guilt, taking over other emotions John had when he saw Sherlock standing by the door.

Sherlock gaze fell to the floor before the detective turned his heels and ran downstairs. The door was slammed so hard everyone went to the living room to see what was going on.

"Was that Sherlock?" Molly asked, standing next to Mike Stamford. "Is he not going to come in?" Mike asked standing next to Mrs. Hudson. "I don't think so, dear..." Mrs Hudson answered and shot a sad look at the other two.

"You should go after him, John." Mycroft said as all eyes shifted to him. "You're here too!" Said Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade's arm was around Mycroft as he said, "You probably should."

There was a brief moment of silence before Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands together and said, "Well, I think we should go back to dinner. And I think Mycroft should join us." Everybody murmured and nodded in agreement except for John who was staring at the door. "Come on everyone," said Mrs. Hudson. Everyone started walking to the kitchen where dinner table was.

Sarah put a palm on John's shoulder as she asked in concern, "John, are you okay?" John snapped his head to the side and growled,

"Okay? Am I okay?" Everyone stopped in their tracks as all eyes fell on John. He stood up, his fists clenched tight in a sudden burst of anger. "What about Sherlock? Is he okay? Am I the only one in this goddamned house who give a shit about him?" He asked raising his tone. He stomped pass Sarah and ran down the stairs before slamming the door behind him.

-

John stomped out of the building and onto the pavements as he slid his arms into his leather jacket. The sky was dim when it snowed, quickly covering the streets with white snow. He scanned his eyes on everything around him as he looked for The Detective. His nose turned red as the temperature dropped and the wind became stronger He walked and walked along the pavements, not knowing where to go. Sometimes he ran, then he stopped after he became tired. Sometimes he stumbled on snow and almost fell. Sometimes snow got into his eyes and he had to stop to shake it off. His lips were turning blue and his body was shaking from the cold. He knew the situation was impossible. How could he ever find Sherlock Holmes in the middle of such a weather, when the police couldn't find him on a regular bright London? But he pushed the thought away, because John had no intention to go home without his friend. He'd look until sun came up if he could, he would starve and thirst but he wouldn't stop walking. He was ready to freeze to death to find that prick John called his friend.

John started to come up with places he knew were Sherlock's hiding places. He looked around for a cab, but no transportation was out and about in a nasty weather like this. Not even people were in the streets. The town looked abandoned with white ashes and dead. John was out of breath. Oxygen was wearing thin and John had been walking for miles. His legs had brought him to a huge park. He rests his hand on a tree as he caught his breath. There was a giant Christmas tree visible from where John stood, and under it was a bench, and on the bench is a figure wearing a coat with a dark hair. A huge camping bag sat next to the figure.

John's eyes lit up as he ran an extra mile, ignoring his lungs that were out of air and his legs that were shaking. His head was spinning and his bandaged hands were numb, but he raced on. His eyes on the figure and the closer he was to the bench the more it resembled his friend Sherlock and his unnecessary huge back pack. He stopped running a couple feet behind the bench. His vision was dark, his breaths grew shorter. John pondered over what he was going to say to Sherlock.

_Sorry? I miss you? I'm kinda into you? Do you want to go out sometimes?_

But then John pictured Sherlock receiving those words, and it didn't feel right.

_Sorry for what? I was only gone for 10 days. John, while I'm flattered by what you propose. I considered myself married to my work._

John took a step closer, and then another. Snow was falling still except it wasn't as heavy as it was before. The view became clearer as fairy lights draped around the tree shone around it, radiating a feeling of warmth in the middle of snow. John was standing in front of the bench then, and he was right. Sherlock was sitting on the bench, his body leaned back, his eyes fixed on the Christmas tree in front of them. He didn't even flinch when John stood next to him. John knew Sherlock could feel his presence, still he didn't know what to say. So instead he put up a smile and tucked his hands into his pockets.

"So, you're back early." He said while pushing away all emotions and exhaustion. Sherlock was still looking at the tree as John continued,

"Christmas at parents wasn't exciting, then?" John waited for his remark, but still he stayed quiet.

"Sherlock.."

"I came back for you." Sherlock blurted out. John's eyes widen in surprise, suddenly his chest was filled with guilt again. The hair behind his neck stood as he starred down at his friend.

"You.."

Sherlock bowed his head, before he looked up at John. What John saw in Sherlock's eyes broke John's heart. He swear Sherlock didn't look upset or angry; he looked genuinely and in all honesty, hurt. John had never seen him like that. Sherlock's cheeks was the color of his nose red, his brows furrowed and his eyes, reflected the yellow light from the tree making them glistened. But John could see that Sherlock was trying hard not to look so weak and sad, because his lips were pressed into a thin line though they were slightly shaking.

"... Said you needed me."

His words struck John as his face fell, revealing what he truly felt; guilt, joy, anger sadness all at the same time. He remembered the night before, when he called Sherlock out of the blue after barely escaping death in the house fire.

"You came back just because I said.." The rest of John's words trailed off. Something caught in his throat when he was about to say it. Those three words ringing in his ear; _I need you._

Sherlock didn't answer. His eyes went back to the state it was before, staring blankly at the tree. John knew Sherlock wasn't a man of emotion, and it must troubled Sherlock to feel awful or the first time (in a very long time). John could see it in Sherlock's eyes; hurt, anger, and most of all; confusion. John clicked his tongue then, tortured by what was burning in his chest that he didn't even knew what exactly. Perhaps seeing Sherlock so vulnerable broke his heart. He then took out his hand that was in his pocket and held it out. It was covered by overlapping bandages from the accident the day before. John put them on himself. Sherlock turned to look at it, before looking up at John.

"Must be painful," he mumbled.

John gulped down the lump in his throat as he looked Sherlock in the eyes, "Come on, we got to go back."

He reached his hand further. Sherlock looked down at John's open hand before touching his hand with John's. He traced John's fingers with his, making John's heart skipped a beat. He then intertwined his fingers with John, wrapping his fingers and holding John's burnt hand delicately. He looked up at him with a curious look, like he was studying John's reaction. John looked away then, his neck and cheeks turning red. He didn't want Sherlock to see because Sherlock would give an embarrassing remark about it, and John didn't feel like hearing it from his flatmate.

John took Sherlock's backpack and strapped it onto his back as a distraction. Sherlock didn't stop him, but still he said, "I could carry it myself, John." Sherlock protested. John shook his head, then hung it low, still covering his redden cheeks. Sherlock's hand was still holding his gently. John hated Sherlock for being casual about holding hands, like it was a normal thing to do between friends.

Sherlock blinked and tilted his head to reach John's eye level. "John?" Sherlock said, his warm breath brushing John's hair, visible as a puff of white fog. his face inches from John's. John looked up, meeting their eyes again.

"We should go, everyone's waiting."

John looked away just after spitting the sentence. He walked away from the tree an the bench, tugging Sherlock's hand to follow him. Sherlock trailed along obediently, hand still gently holding John's Sherlock's trench coat flapping behind them as they left the park.

The two walked side by side, both looking away. Sometimes the other would looked at the other from the corner of his eyes. Still, it was a very silent walk home. Snow has stopped falling at some point and it was dead silent. John looked down on their hands joining together. He loved every second of it, Sherlock's warmth on his hand shaking off the numbness he felt earlier. But when he looked at the man beside him, and he still didn't look pleased, John pressed his lips together and wished he could just let go even if he didn't want to.

The door to 221B Baker Street was a couple blocks away when John had finally braved himself up to speak. He cleared his dry throat and asked with a made up casual tone, "Why did you run away?"

Sherlock snapped his head and starred down at John, his dark curls brushing his forehead when he did and John wished he could burry his fingers into Sherlock's fluffy hair.

"Because," he then looked blankly at the ground beneath, "I figured I didn't want to interrupt. You were on the couch with a woman... Snogging."

John despised himself for not stopping Sarah from kissing him, and hated having Sherlock saw the whole thing even more. "It's not what it looks like." John said under his breath. He stopped Sherlock just in front of the door to 221B. He stood in front of Sherlock, looking up because the other man was slightly taller.

"Sarah kissed me because she thought I'm into her. I'm not into her, and I didn't mean to kiss her back. I swear. It was clearly a misunderstanding. What I meant was..." He paused a second then continued, "I'm sorry" John didn't even know why he was apologizing but he felt the need to.

"John..." Sherlock said, his hand reaching his friend as John froze where he stood. He held his breath, Sherlock leaned in and suddenly he stopped. A click was heard from behind John. Sherlock's hand was on the door knob, opening the door behind them. Sherlock starred down at John, his eyes shooting daggers, his voice colder than the wind howling. John realized it was no longer the look he saw earlier at the park. This was the usual Sherlock look. The stoic, cold, upset look.

_"You should've not called me that night."_

Sherlock let go of John's hand, walked pass John and into the flat, leaving John on the front door. John could feel an ache in his chest. His words replayed in his head. he took a long breath while collecting himself together. Sherlock's words were a dagger and John's heart was a target.

He then followed after Sherlock and stopped him before he stepped on the staircase, closing the door behind him. He put a hand on his friend's shoulder and turned him around. Sherlock was facing John now, his face still showed anger. John wished Sherlock was just covering up his sad look by trying to look tough, but now John was not so sure anymore. He licked his blue lips, his hand still on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Please don't do this to me, Sherlock." He said, his voice cracking. "Don't be mad at me. Not like this. You can be mad about losing cluedo, or me hiding your revolvers and cigarettes, or forcing you to lay off your nicotine patches, but don't be mad at me for this. Not right now. Not during.." John was talking so fast. He stopped to blink and took a deep breath, "Not during Christmas."

"Boys are you back?" Mrs. Hudson shouted from the top of the stairs. John shut his eyes. He could feel his legs weakened.

"We'll be upstairs in a minute, Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled and Mrs. Hudson went back into the kitchen. "You okay?" Sherlock said. John opened his eyes, nodded and smiled. "I'm fine."

Sherlock walked upstairs followed by John. John was having trouble to breathe, his sight fading but he kept walking. He tumbled over a stair and almost fell. He reached the top finally and entered the kitchen where everyone were sitting around the dinner table. Looked like they were waiting for the two, because the food were untouched. John felt sorry for yelling at them earlier. Deep down John knew everyone was as concerned as him about Sherlock. But he had no time to apologize because suddenly the air surrounding him thickened. John was breathing so slow, his body felt numb. It was as if John was surrounded by sea water, drowning.

"There they are!" Mike said, in his hand was a glass of wine. Lestrade was sitting next to Mycroft, both holding a glass of wine as well. The two didn't leave a space between them. Their shoulders brushing, happy smiles on their faces.

"I thought you'd never find him. No one in Scotland yard could." Lestrade joked. "Take a seat both of you!" Mrs. Hudson pointed to two empty seats next to each other. Sherlock spoke with a genuine tone, absolutely no sarcasm intended. He said, "I apologize for my misbehavior. I'm truly sorry you lot have to starve waiting for us. I'm rather flattered." Sherlock smiled as silence followed.

Everybody shared a look, before Molly cleared her throat and spoke up in response, "It's okay, Sherlock. Take a seat so we could begin." She smiled warmly.

John smiled at his friend, though he couldn't see it. Sherlock was on his Christmas mode, and John loved it.

_Suddenly the fairy lights and decorations matter again. Suddenly the Christmas song on the radio sounded beautiful again. Everything felt so Christmas-y again. Christmas is back. Christmas is awesome again. Christmas is..._

John's legs began to wobble before John tumbled sitting on the chair making a loud thud. The whole room stared at John in concern. "You alright, John?" Sarah, who was sitting on the corner of the table next to Molly uttered her concern first, "Your don't look alright."

"I'm okay, just a bit cold, really." John said in return. Sherlock took a seat beside John, then rubbed his hands together.

"Now! Shall we begin before everyone got too drunk from all the wine or?" Everyone chuckled. They put down their glass of wine, but then John fell from his chair and to the floor, making everyone gasped in shock.

John fell dead on the floor, his face turning white and his lips dark blue. Sherlock pushed his chair away and kneeled down beside him in an instant. John could see the extreme worry in the man's eyes, starring down at him. Everything turned black then, but John could hear Sherlock's voice. That voice of his that John had wanted to hear live and not from the phone, John's favorite sound.

Sherlock's voice faded in the midst of darkness swallowing John's consciousness. The voice repeated in John's ear, John could feel Sherlock's warm breath in his ear as darkness took him.

"John? Stay with me, stay with me."


	10. Christmas Eve - Part 3

**5 Days Before Christmas**

"I need to talk to you, John."

Sherlock laid back on his bed, staring at the ceiling above. Sherlock's eyes were still adjusting to the darkness surrounding him.

 _"What happened?"_ John's voice on the other line. The detective placed his phone next to his ear as he took a deep breath. "Mycroft came and ruined everything." He said, his voice trembling. "He made mum upset at me. He-"

Sherlock paused, his head fell to the side. He starred at the bottles on the table by the bed. White dust were kept inside, inhalation at a huge amount could lead to a person's demise. Cocain. Sherlock had found them at a compartment in his ceiling located in his old bedroom where he used to hide things like these from his mother. He beamed at it, the outlines of the bottles blurred by the darkness. "I can't sleep."

He said finally, deciding not to tell John anything that might ruin him and his beloved Christmas.

Sherlock's eyes fixed on the bottle. He needed a fix. He needed it so badly. He would take it all at once, he didn't care. He hated everything and everyone, and he wanted to get away from it all. There was no John to stop him this time. He could do anything to himself without John seeing. He could get away.

Sherlock knew he couldn't go back to that life. Deep down his heart wanted otherwise. It wanted John to stop himself. His brain, however, needed a stimulant. When Mycroft sent him over the edge, his head kept telling him to open the compartment in his ceiling, and Sherlock obeyed. So here he was, his heart conflicting with what the head desired.

Sherlock shut his eyes. He was lost. He didn't know what to do, what's right and wrong. He waited for a reply, waited for John to make things right again.

_"Do you know, when I was a little my mom used to be angry at me for stealing the jam?"_

Sherlock's eyes shut open, his brows furrowed. _What?_

"Steal the what?"

Sherlock could feel John smiling before he revealed his story.

 _"The jam. See when I was a kid..."_ John told him the story of how he used to steal the jam, and Sherlock forgot about all his worries. Sherlock laughed, then began telling him about the beehive he saw in his parent's garden.

"John."

_"Hm?"_

"Thank you."

_"For what?"_

Sherlock looked at the bottles next to him and promised himself to throw it first thing in the morning. Sherlock didn't need a fix when he had got John Watson by his side.

"Saving a life."

-

**Christmas Eve**

For the longest time all John could see was darkness and all he could hear were muted voices. He didn't know where he was, or if he was alive. Maybe he's dead and death was just a big ball of darkness and nothing else.

John's senses were coming to life. He could feel the bed sheet beneath him, the pillow under his head, the warmth and smell of his bedroom. His eyelids were heavy and it took him awhile to open them. John fluttered his eyelids open and the first thing he saw was the ceiling. He was in his bedroom, wrapped under layers of blankets. A growing pain in his head wakened him completely. He let out a soft grunt, before shifting his head to the side trying to stop the pain from radiating. His eyes shot open when he saw it.

Sherlock Holmes was sleeping on the bed next to him, his head had fallen to the side facing John. His dark hair falling over his forehead, his face white, pale and soft. He looked like an innocent child, his mouth parted a little as his chest heaved up and down. His eyelids shut close. John's face was so close to Sherlock's he could feel each breath brushing his face. John was sure he stopped breathing. Sherlock had bags under his eyes, still he looked gorgeous. John didn't know if a man could be beautiful, but when he saw Sherlock inches away from him, to John Sherlock was the most beautiful person John had ever known in his life.

Sherlock let out a low moan before he flinched. He was waking up. John kept staring at him, his hand itched from the desire to caress Sherlock's cheeks. Sherlock woke up yawning, then his eyes lids opened halfway like he was still half asleep. He looked tired, his lips pouting slightly as he looked back at John.

"How long have you been staring at me?" He said with a lazy, raspy just-woke-up voice. John let out a chuckle before he replied, "I just woke up too."

Sherlock rubbed an eye as John continued, "By the way, what do you think you're doing, sleeping on my bed?" Sherlock, still rubbing his eye, shrugged his shoulders. John let out another snort. "How are you feeling?" Sherlock said, blinking his eyes shaking off the sleepiness that remained. "I feel..." John looked down at his body, covered in layers of blanket up until his shoulders, "warm and snugly." He nodded as his gaze shifted back to Sherlock. "Good. Just what we wanted."

Sherlock let out a sigh as he looked up the ceiling. John couldn't remember how he got here in the first place and so he asked, "What happened to me?" Sherlock snapped his head to the side to face him again, ready to give answers. "Hypothermia," He began, "Your body core temperature dropped to a dangerous level. You passed out. You must have been out in the cold for too long."

"What about dinner?"

"Should be over now."

John replied after a second, "Don't tell me you missed dinner." 

"I missed dinner."

"How could you!"

"What? I was here with you. You were dying, I had to take control and let everyone else have a peaceful Christmas dinner!"

"You could've called the ambulance or something!"

"Is that what you would've wanted instead? An ambulance coming over here, making a fuss that would end up to Christmas dinner being canceled? I refused to call the ambulance, the situation was under control!"

"And your refusal was on what grounds?"

"On the grounds of you having a peaceful Christmas dinner! Isn't that what you wanted?"

"I wanted you to not miss the Christmas dinner, that's all. It's the only human thing you do every year."

"What do you mean it's the only human thing- I'm not a machine, mind you."

"Yes, but sometimes you act like one! Lots of times! Like, like not freezing to death though being out in the cold as long as I was! And, and..." John realized he was raising his voice, so he looked away and calmed his breaths. "And leaving us during Christmas without prior notice."

Sherlock stared at his friend before he uttered, "You're not making sense, John."

"What I meant was!" He clicked his tongue and raised his voice again, "You've come all the way here, somehow managed to get through the snowstorm, left your parents and for what?"

Sherlock jumped off the bed and stormed out of the room, taking warmth with him. John smacked himself in the forehead. All he wanted was for Sherlock to not miss the Christmas dinner. John knew Sherlock loved their annual Christmas dinner, when he could be out of character for once and let everybody accept him as a human being who talked normal. He wanted everyone to know that Sherlock was human. He knew Sherlock was not a machine, that Sherlock was a good friend, even when he didn't act it sometimes. He always knew. But the others didn't, and John wanted the world to know how amazing Sherlock Holmes actually was.

His head was spinning again but he ignored it. He cuddled himself up, ready to sleep again. He looked at the alarm clock sitting on the table. Christmas was near. 30 minutes more and it's the 25th of December, but John had never felt less Christmas-y in all his existence. He wanted it to be over. Everything would be back to normal. Sherlock would be solving cases again with him alongside. They would banter like friends, go to restaurants where Sherlock could get free meals and talked about a case as colleges. They would forget about what happened this Christmas, and perhaps never host a Christmas dinner ever again. Everything would be back to normal.

John shut his eyes close and ignored the pain in his chest. Tears slipped from the corner of his eyes but he kept them close. His lips quiver as he sniffled. He didn't want everything to go back to normal. He was so close to having Sherlock, so close it hurt.

He cried silently in his sleep, his pillows wet from the tears rolling down his cheeks.

He then heard a tune, a melody produced by a violin played in the floor under. He couldn't help it. He wiped his tears away, peeled the blankets off him, stepped out of his bed and walked to where the sound came from.

Sherlock Holmes was standing by the window next to his couch, his violin under his chin and the bow in his hand. He was producing a beautiful sound. John didn't know which musical genius from the 18th century composed the song, but it sounded amazing. It sounded deep and sad, expressing a person's sorrow and despair. It sounded so awful it was beautiful. If a word could describe what the song sounded like, it sounded like pain. You have to embrace your pain because it defined you, and that was exactly how John felt listening to the melody, every note piercing his eardrums.

John was standing by the door when Sherlock finished the song. His back was facing John, Sherlock cocked his head to the side and glanced at John with the corner of his eye.

"That was beautiful."

Sherlock looked out the window again.

"Who composed it?"

"I did."

"You.. You made that?"

Sherlock then reached his hand to the radio next to him and tuned in to a slow song. The Christmas Song was the title of the song, Sherlock turned and walked over to John. John licked his lips as Sherlock offered him a hand. John shot a _what?_ look at Sherlock, but Sherlock's hand was still in the air. John took it, puzzled, then realized Sherlock was asking for a dance.

Sherlock pulled John close to him, his hand on John's hip and the other holding his burnt hand carefully. John responded by placing his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and looked back into the detective's eyes. John had just realize how much he missed the smell of his shirt, the color of his eyes. The two danced along to the music, waltzing slowly and casually around the room.

Sherlock whispered in John's ear, melting the tension floating in the air. He said, "I accept your apology."

John smiled, confused, "What?"

"You were going to apologize."

"But I haven't said it yet."

"I thought I might do you a favor."

John laughed, then met his eyes with Sherlock's, "I'm sorry for yelling at you. The truth was, I wanted to show everyone you were..."

"Normal?"

"Beautiful."

Sherlock's lips parted slightly. He clearly didn't expect that. John cleared his throat and looked away, his cheeks blushing red. He didn't know he could be so brave. He asked him a question as distraction,

"How did you make it back to London?"

"Road trip. Flights were canceled. We had no choice. Ugh, Road trip with Mycroft was the worst. He couldn't hold in his body liquids for 2 minutes. Oh, the amount of gas stations we visited was terrifying. He slowed us down, really."

John laughed again and it made Sherlock laugh too. Sherlock starred down at his flatmate, still waltzing to the song accompanied by Christmas lights scattered around the flat. His movements matched perfectly to John's, making the dance very enjoyable for the both. His fingers wrapped around John as the gap between them decreased.

"Funny how I thought you were really going to spend Christmas at home." John said, a smile across his face.

"Is that why you were snogging with some woman on the couch?"

"Yeah, about that. Like I said, didn't mean it. I said-"

"But John," Sherlock muttered in almost a whisper, cutting John mid-sentence. John caught his gaze and looked into the galaxies in his eyes as the detective continued,

"Home is here."

John gulped, his eyelids fluttered nervously. He waited eagerly of what Sherlock had to say next.

"To me, you were always my home."

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders casually, but John could feel the tremble in his hand. He was shaking when he said those words.

"I am in fact, spending Christmas at home."

John stopped dancing then, he looked at the detective as his face fell. "Is everything alright?" Sherlock uttered his concern. John raised his voice, not caring that it would wake Mrs. Hudson.

"Then why did you left? Did you know what you were doing to me? I miss you everyday, every minute, every second of those days you were gone! I kept staring at the door, hoping any second that you would burst in and said, 'Hey, John! I'm back! Christmas at my parents was a big mistake!' I wished and hoped and shouted into the air! And it hurts, Sherlock!"

John inhaled a deep breath before he lowered his tone, "It hurts when I realized how much worthless my life is without you by my side. It hurts because I needed you. Because I miss you, goddamn it! It hurts because..."

"John..."

"Because I love you."

John felt tears welling up behind his eyes as his lower lip quivered. Sherlock starred down in shock at his friend. John saw his pupils dilated, and he wasted no time. He leaned closer, not caring what would happen next. He had wasted enough time denying his feelings for the detective, and he had had enough. His heart racing and his stomach crunched.

"I'm in love with you"

Sherlock smiled weakly at John and let out a laugh before he finally remarked; simply, genuinely, happily,

"I knew it."

For a moment it felt like time had frozen. John's lips were parted, Sherlock's were smiling. John grabbed Sherlock's shirt collar. He wanted a prove. A prove that Sherlock wasn't playing a game. A prove that what they had was real.

John pulled Sherlock into his arms and pressed his lips gently on Sherlock's as Sherlock quickly returned the kiss. John pulled away, then studied the detective's reaction. Sherlock looked surprised, but then his lips turned into a smile and in a split second the both were kissing again. John's hands cupping Sherlock's face, Sherlock's hand wrapped around John's waist. John's kisses were rough but passionate, like he was still angry but happy that they kissed. Sherlock's tongue danced to the rhythm of John's, clearly the more experienced from the two. John felt amazing, his head exploding with excitement and joy. He ran his hands through Sherlock's hair as he felt Sherlock cupping his chin and tilting his head up. John didn't even know he wanted it until now. Sherlock's kiss on Christmas Eve.

The bells were ringing, telling everyone it's Christmas. The two pulled away then, their forehead touching and their lungs out of breath. They laughed and smiled at each other. John said panting, his thumb brushing Sherlock's soft cheek, "Merry Christmas."

Sherlock looked like he was about to cry, but he smiled back at John and said in return, "Merry Christmas."

They began kissing again, but then Sherlock pulled away. "Wait! Uh... I've got something for you."

He fumbled his hand into his backpack placed on the couch next to them. John waited while laughing at Sherlock. Sherlock pulled out his hand and revealed what he was searching for. He held it up to show John, a jar of strawberry jam with a sticky note on it that said _'I love you'_ written in his handwriting.

John took it with a huge grin plastered on his face as Sherlock shifted in his heels nervously. "Your Christmas present... Uh, do you like it?"

John stared at Sherlock shaking his head and smiling. Sherlock trying to be romantic was the cutest thing ever. It was enough prove for John. He had it in his bag the whole time, waiting for the right moment. He knew Sherlock Holmes had fallen for him too, even before John knew it.

"You're an idiot." He pecked Sherlock on the lips again, his hands rested behind Sherlock's neck, "Of course I love it."

Sherlock's frown turned into a cheeky grin as John licked his lips and said with a smirk on his face, "Sleep on my bed tonight. Make sure I don't get Hypothermia again anytime soon."

"Well," Sherlock said smirking back, "Only an idiot argues with his doctor."

John put his jar of jam on a table near them and kissed Sherlock again, the kiss went on forever as the two embraced each other in their arms, knowing that the person they were holding were the loves of their lives, and they would never let go again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END! Whew! This has been an amazing writting experience. I would like to thank you those people who commented and left kudos because you helped me finished the story. Without you I would probably leave this discontinued. So thank you very much.
> 
> Also, I would like to apologize for my grammatical or spelling mistakes here and there, because I edit the chapters myself. Thank you for being patient with me. 
> 
> Finally, I hope you like the chapter, because I love it :) please kindly leave your comments, I love reading them!
> 
> I plan to release an additional chapter to explain lose ends but I still don't know when I can post it. Soon, I think.
> 
> Merry Christmas! I hope you have a wonderful day ahead of you xx


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